Chapter II: The Hand Speaks

Royal Library, Royal Citadel
Radiant Garden

"Remind me again why we're in the library?"

Looking about at the towering bookshelves, Riku sort of felt rather dwarfed. Honestly, though Hollow Bastian had been the first world he had visited, Riku had never paid much attention to the scenery - his thoughts during those early years had been consumed with his quest to find and save Kairi, or escalating his childhood rivalry with Sora. He had never really stopped the appreciate the beauty, or even the sheer size of Radiant Garden's famed Citadel - it seemed as if it had been crafted in some bygone era, representing a golden age now totally out of reach. "I mean, granted, any day where Sora willingly walks into one of these things is a cause for celebration, but-"

"We're looking for stuff on this R'hllor character," Sora said determinedly, practically power-walking across the threshold of a section of the library. "Ansem the Wise did a lot of studies into the heart - if this god really is called the 'Heart of Fire', I think Ansem would have at least looked into it!"

"Load of good those studies did him... I don't think they'll even have anything here, Sora," Kairi said tepidly, "Isn't Westeros a rather secluded place?"

"You know, from my experience, secluded places are secluded for a reason." Riku supposed that they could have asked the priestess about R'hllor, but he guessed Sora was looked for an "unbiased" source.

Speaking of which, another voice approached the trio a few shelves back; from afar, they heard the strangely-lilted accent of the red priestess of Asshai: "...oddest literary establishment I have ever come across: it seems that every time I remove a book from its place, the entire shelf moves somehow. Perhaps I am simply overwhelmed by the number of tomes here..."

The feminine voice was answered by a loud chortle, and Sora's eyes dilated, as he recognized that particular laugh many a time as he trained in spellwork at Traverse Town. He held out his hand in front of Riku and Kairi, silently urging them back behind the bookshelf. Eventually, the owners of the two voices strolled into view: the red priestess from the previous night, Melisandre, and an older man, with a lankier figure in voluminous blue robes. Atop the man's crooked nose were a pair of full spectacles, from which sparkled sky blue eyes. His long white beard nearly reached his knees, and atop his head was a tall, pointed blue cap. In his gnarled right hand was a long ash wand, which poked and prodded the offending bookcase. "Ah yes, some enchanter must have been bored one day and decided to start messing with the Dewey decimal system. Still, it does make research a bit more exciting, don't you think?" Still chortling, they continued. Riku had to admit, they made an odd pairing – the young, vivid priestess, scarlet gown practically searing at the old wizard's sky-blue robe and cap. "Now, to return to the subject matter. It is a well-known fact, madam, that journey via the Corridors of Darkness comes at great risk to the participants in question. Tests have shown that prolonged exposure to the Realm of Darkness through such transit opens the subjects' hearts to adverse degrees of corruption -"

"Such is the power of the Great Other," agreed Melisandre (cryptically as always), fingering the ruby at her throat. "However, do you honestly believe that if Dark Corridors have the power to corrupt, then perhaps transit through the Corridors of Light can then purify?"

"It is quite possible, madam, but testing is the only way to be sure!" The old man's head bobbed along eagerly as he considered the possibilities, tapping his wand energetically into the palm of his hand. With his train of thought obviously speeding along at miles per second, he speculated, "Though that would contradict your earlier hypothesis: your comparison of Darkness to onion rot is not one I had ever considered, to be perfectly honest - I'm more partial to leeks, myself-"

"As you explained earlier, in order to utilize the Corridors of Darkness, one must willingly immerse themselves in the Darkness. The opposite holds true for the Corridors of Light. Immersion in the Red Faith wi-" Melisandre stopped mid-speech, and, to the trio's befuddlement (as Goofy would surely have described their reaction), the great ruby clasped to her throat flashed bright red, almost as if it were emitting light - which was gone in an instant. The priestess stopped and sniffed the air, perturbed, then shifted her gaze towards their general direction, before honing in on the one at the front of their merry band: Riku. Blinking, she turned slowly to her escort and said, "If you may grant us a moment, ser."

"Oh, certainly madam! And if you have any further desire to collaborate, please do not hesitate to ask! You know right where to find me!" Doffing his cap politely, revealing a slightly balding head, the old man nodded politely at the red woman and turned to the three newcomers. "Sora my lad, good to see you again! I hope you've been practicing your spellwork. And as for your acquaintances..." He bowed deeply to the three and then donned his cap once again, saying, "You must be Master Riku and Prin- uh, that is to say, Kairi." He huffed at his near slip-up and his gaze darted back at Melisandre worriedly - who was still (annoyingly) staring at Riku.

Riku frowned - not only at the red woman's muffling scrutiny, but at the magician as well. Perhaps being manipulated and possessed by the eldritch forces of Darkness had made him paranoid, but something was not quite right about the present situation. Is discussing Kairi's status as a Princess of Heart off-topic - and if so, why? I mean, it's not like this lady is trying to obtain Kingdom Hearts or something, is it? Inwardly, he scoffed, though he had to admit to himself he was a tad unsettled by the idea.

It seemed he would have to keep his suspicions to himself, at least for the moment: Sora simply beamed at the Magician and said, "Good to see you too! Guys, this is Merlin the Magician - he taught me practically everything I know about magic! Just, uh, just don't tell Donald I said that."

Kairi giggled at him. "It's our pleasure, sir - I hope you're still in the teaching mood after having to deal with this bum!"

"HEY-!"

"Certainly, my dear, certainly! Well, I suppose I must be off, shouldn't I? Committee papers to fill out, research to round up, you know." Merlin bowed to them all once again and, winking mischievously at the Wielders of the Keyblade, disappeared in his characteristic puff of sparkling blue smoke (which did, in fact, smell faintly of leeks).

With Merlin departed, Melisandre turned her full attention towards the approaching youths. The priestess' expression, once exuding a serene warmth, returned to its initial neutral expression the three were more familiar with from the previous night. Taking them in, she tilted her head up the library's staircase and asked, "I assume you also go to attend Lord Alester's audience with the Committee?"

"Hmm. Isn't it your audience?" asked Riku pointedly, folding his arms defensively.

She laughed in response, though she did not sound all too humored by the comment. "Lord Alester serves as His Grace's official representative in all matters, both domestic and diplomatic. I, however, humbly represent only the Lord of Light." Turning away from them, she began to stroll ever further towards the Citadel, maintaining a leisurely pace so that her fellow off-worlders could follow - though her still rather long stride belied the fact that, if anyone was Stannis' Hand, it would naturally be her, and not Lord Alester. "You interrupted a rather interesting conversation about the Corridors of Light, but I suppose extrapolation on that subject will have to wait. Politics knows no master, it seems."

Confrontation was the name of the game that day, apparently. Riku said, "Alright, humor us. And what, exactly, does representing the Lord of Light entail?"

"We attend to the rites passed down to us through the generations, in order to prepare our world for the second coming of Azhor Ahai. In anticipation of this grand event, we seek also to illuminate the Darkness..." Here she shot Riku an intense look that none of the others could easily ignore. "Whatever form it takes."

He instantly rose to the bait. Teeth gritting, Riku replied, "If you have something to say, my lady, say it."

"Why, don't mind if I do." Eyes alighting with piety (and just a dash of mischievousness), the red woman pointed directly at Riku and cried, "You have immersed yourself in the Darkness, allowing it to cloud your heart, now black and cold and full of worms! From thence it takes root, as a noxious cancer. It may warded off for a time, and you may reckon yourself as truly reformed, but eventually it returns to the surface, and ultimately devours the host. To you, I say: repent!"

"Hey, watch it!" Sora lashed out - and for a split second, Riku wondered where the librarian was in the middle of all this noise. "You're talking to a Keyblade Master, lady!"

"Ah yes, I had forgotten - perhaps your instructor erred, then." Ignoring the indignation of the other two, Melisandre smiled beatifically at Riku, opened her arms to him and said, "His Grace the King has a saying he is rather fond of: a good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad the good. But you need not fret, child. You may yet find salvation with the Lord of Light. Where you once served the Other, I can see that your future path lies beneath the warm gaze of R'hllor the Radiant. The deep mysteries of the Light await those who truly seek it."

Riku sighed - as nice as it was to hear Sora defending him, it really wasn't necessary. He himself had gone through Melisandre's thought process not one year ago, continuously beating himself upside the head with his own failures. Eventually, he had come to the realization that dwelling on the past would only restrict him from moving past it. Still, the path the red woman was offering did not appeal to him. So, I ditched the dark witch, and I now get shackled with a light witch instead. Their names even begin with the same damned letter! Am I destined to just be the universe's bitch? And... and what was with that bit about worms? Intrapersonal monologue concluded, he simply huffed in response and muttered gruffly, "...No thanks. I chose the Road to Dawn a long time ago."

She seemed amused by that. "The Twilight is a transitory state, my child. You must choose eventually between light and dark. There will come a time, Master Riku, when we will all be bathed in the Light of the Lord, and thereby held to account for our deeds. Only the guilty tremble." The distant ringing of bells snapped her out of her sermon. "Ah, the meeting is about to begin. Let this be your first test, young Master." Behind the priestess, tongues of fire erupted from the ground, growing brighter with every flame, until it coalesced into a searing portal, shining red and orange and yellow: a Corridor of Light. "Follow, son of Darkness... if you dare."

Great Hall, Royal Citadel
Radiant Garden

"Rather fancy trick of yours, my lady," greeted a slightly nasal voice - Leon.

The Corridor of Light had not negatively affected him (at the moment) - a bit warmer than the Dark Corridors, but no other side effects he could discern. Riku looked around. Two rows of seats for the Radiant Garden Restoration Committee had been arranged in a semicircle on the high terrace where Sora had fought the Seeker of Darkness - and sacrificed his heart for Kairi's. Chewing his lip thoughtfully, he noticed that it looked way more cheery than the last time he had been here - the Keyhole was shut, there were notably fewer (read: no) Heartless, and the awkward pipes installed by Ansem's Apprentices piercing the walls and floors had been removed, their scars even now still being repaired by expert masonry. Lining the Grand Hall were balconies from which the Garden's residents could observe the proceedings, and before the Committee's seating arrangement was a lone podium carved out of a purple stone incised with the Royal seal.

At that juncture, the back doors to the Grand Hall opened slowly, and two men in white lab coats strode through determinedly: one of them was an elder man with a mane of long, sandy hair and icy blue eyes, towering over the others in the hall and violently clutching a sheet of papers in his right hand; and the one following him was considerably younger, with long grey hair, with one of his front bangs flowing forward to cover his right eye, amusement dancing gaily in his visible left. Instinctively, Riku snarled and summoned Way to the Dawn, Keyblade slashing threateningly at the pair. "You-!"

"Ah, hello Riku. No time to chat, I'm afraid: we're about to go politicking." The sandy-haired academic rolled his eyes. "I assure you, young Master of the Keyblade, I'd enjoy nothing more than to 'catch up on old times' instead - but the affairs of the Realm wait for no task, not even the pursuit of science! Ugh, what has this world come to..."

"Riku," warned Leon from the side, "settle down. I'm sure you already know this gang: Sora, Kairi, these two are Ienzo, formerly Zexion; and of course, Even, formerly Vexen, of Organization XIII." He frowned. "Aeleus and Dilan should be somewhere nearby..."

"We've already met, actually - but you can be forgiven if you can't recall, I'm not all that memorable..." a snickering Even told Sora, who just raised an eyebrow bemusedly.

No, I imagine he's not. The Keyblade Master blinked and dismissed the Way to the Dawn after a few moments. Looking at Ienzo, he said very dryly, "Well... you smell better, at any rate. So," he turned to Leon and, ignoring the younger apprentice's deadpan look, asked incredulously, "you're just going to let them into the Committee? No questions asked?"

"Well, uh, we're actually on probation, of course," Ienzo chimed in... helpfully? Folding his arms and stroking his chin thoughtfully, he looked at the trio and continued, "So we don't really have an actual vote in the proceedings... but we're still allowed to observe-"

"And offer our most insightful commentary," Even finished triumphantly - perhaps, Riku thought, even looking quite giddy at the thought - and right before he could tell the scientist where exactly he thought he should shove his 'commentary', Even caught sight of the priestess still lingering next to Leon. Now looking a little less smug, and with a cold glint piercing his eye, he inclined his head politely and greeted, a tad reluctantly, "Ah hah... Lady Melisandre. I hope you and your followers are finding your stay... hospitable, so far."

And so ice meets fire... Riku smirked to himself. This ought to be fun.

"Well enough, ser," she responded, and Riku could tell she was just as unenthused as Even was to see him. "I am thankful you haven't expended yourselves too greatly on our account - the men are about to enter a war zone, after all." The priestess then looked at the younger Apprentice, Ienzo, just a tad more favorably, Riku noted. Probably to do with his powers, I guess..? If he recalled correctly, Zexion's strength lay in illlusions - which were nothing more than tricks of the Light, after all. Still sizing the two up, Melisandre asked, "Now, what sort of commentary did the two of you have in mind...?"

The former Cloaked Schemer replied, "Little of the political nature. We Apprentices of Ansem the Wise made the study of the heart a priority of ours for a time, and as a result, gained a great deal of insight into the Darkness as well - at great personal cost, but..." Ienzo shrugged helplessly. "Sacrifices were made."

The lady did not look too impressed with that explanation, and probably would have launched into another sermon if they had not been on a strict timetable: the rest of the Restoration Committee (Merlin, Yuffie, Cid, and a young brunette woman with striking green eyes and pink ensemble - Riku assumed this was Aerith, from Sora's earlier description) filed in quietly from the back of the Grand Hall, whereas the great double doors at its head groaned open, allowing in the half-dozen lords led by the Hand of the King composing the Dragonstone Delegation, yellow and scarlet banners preceding them. Behind came an assortment of others: one the flower-encircled fox of the Florents, another a hippocampus - a horse with a coiling, fishlike hindquarter - on a sea green field, a third a lone crow on green...

Apparently the locals had rehearsed this: standing ominously before their respective chairs in the front row, the Restoration Committee simultaneously stepped backwards and took their seats dramatically. Sora, remembering that he was still an honorary member, hurriedly dragged his companions to the back row. Riku asked tepidly, "Uh, Sora - you sure we're allowed ba-"

"It'll be fine, Riku, pipe down! They're about to start, and I am not going all the way up into those balconies!"

Leon, in the center, initiated the meeting by saying, "Let us begin. The Committee Chair recognizes Alester of House Florent, Lord of Brightwater Keep, Lord Para..." Blinking, Leon surreptitiously shoved back at his sleeve and dropped his gaze (probably looking at a notecard), then glanced back up and continued, "Lord Paramount of the Mander, Warden of the South, and Hand of the King."

The elder noble swept up to the podium as if he were born to it (looking extremely pleased at the extra titles added to his name), flaring ear tips and all, ermine cloak pooling theatrically behind him. Having discarded his ancient attire from the night before, Lord Alester was now clad in red-gold armor (no doubt indicative of the Red Faith) inlaid with lapis flowers on his breastplate: he certainly cut a striking figure. "Honored representatives of Radiant Garden. As Hand of the King, I am, among other duties, granted the authority to speak on behalf of His Grace, Stannis of the House Baratheon, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, etc., in the event of his absence." There, Lord Florent paused, and tugged thoughtfully at his pointed beard. "It is thus said that the Hand should speak with the King's voice: he sends his heartfelt greetings, and regrets that circumstances prevent him treating with you all in person. Nevertheless, his - nay, our - need is most dire. He could think of few others that could aid Westeros in its current and future plight."

"These... circumstances, you mentioned previously," drawled Even. "You lead us to believe that your Realm is undergoing a succession crisis-"

Lord Alester nodded. "The War of Five Kings; though only one of them be true. The King's errant brother, Lord Renly, has already met justice, and His Grace now stands at the threshold of King's Landing. Soon, he shall displace the usurper Joffrey and sit his rightful place on the Iron Throne; but there is an entire Realm to bring to heel." The Southerner's beard-stroking proceeded in earnest. "The Westerlands and the Riverlands are in full revolt, and the Ironborn have swept across the North as a rising tide. It would be of great benefit to the Realm of Light if this squabble were brought to a swift and decisive end. Night is falling swiftly, and the famed fury of the House Baratheon, mighty as it is, cannot hold it back for long."

"You make a compelling case. Still... ah, what's our official stance..?" Leon frowned. "'It is the standard policy of this Committee to adhere to the Balance of Separation, ensuring the secu-'"

That prompted a loud snort from Yuffie, on the outskirts of the semicircle. "That was first enacted by Star Command, wasn't it? I mean, yeah, a second Keyblade War could always pop up... but, if you haven't noticed, Star Command is beyond useless at this stage, anyway."

The room become a little more tense at that: the tales of the Keyblade War that had occurred when the World was whole were greatly steeped in legend, passing ever more into myth as the years had cycled, the separation between worlds becoming ever more pronounced. As far as Riku was aware, the interplanetary organization of Star Command - formed supposedly after the near apocalypse brought about by the Keyblades - had sought to keep that particular catastrophe from repeating itself, by keeping the worlds and their Wielders mostly ignorant of the existence of others'. Their effectiveness was... mostly solid?

"How effectively have their mandates been enforced, again?" Yuffie scoffed - and Riku couldn't help but be impressed by her impassioned stance on the issue, given her relative age and all. "To be honest, Squall, that's a really archaic stance, don't you think? Xehanort shattered however-many-jillion years of 'precedent' when he went cuckoo. The moment we arrived in Traverse To-"

"My name is Leon."

A pause. Yuffie looked to her wrist (a watch), then looked back up at Leon. Another pause. The kunoichi blinked rapidly, impressed. "Wow. You actually lasted a full fifteen seconds there."

He grunted in response, though his lips were also twitching despite his stern tone. "I was just restating our policy, Yuffie, that's what amendments are for. Now, out of curiosity..." mulled Leon, leaning back into his headboard, "How many men does your king command?"

"Before the beginning of his reign, King Stannis held the position of Master of Ships on his brother Robert's small council. That, coupled with his former title of Lord of the Isle of Dragonstone, lends His Grace considerable might at sea: as we speak, a fleet of 200 vessels strong has set sail for the Blackwater Rush, from which His Grace shall launch an amphibious assault on King's Landing, which by our estimates maintains a garrison of some... 7,000?" Lord Alester resumed tugging his beard thoughtfully. That looks like fun. "On land are 21,000 sword and lance sworn to His Grace." He returned a determined gaze back to Even. "As I said, the boy 'king' is of no consequence to this Committee. It is the forces beyond the capital that is of concern to both His Grace and, thusly, to the Realm of Light."

"You mentioned other kings," Leon said, trying to keep count, "Let's see... There was Renly, and you say this... Joffrey's bound for the chopping block? What about the other two? Wouldn't it make sense to try to find common cause with them to fight the Heartless?"

The Old Fox's eyes grew cold then. "Robb Stark and Balon Greyjoy. The 'King of the Isles' and the 'King in the North.' They seek to carve away half of the Realm from His Grace for themselves. Make no mistake..." He gave a significant look to the red priestess standing to the side of the Hall and continued, "It is Stannis who has appeared in the flames, whom the Lord has given command of his hosts, not the Starks, nor the Greyjoys. They have made the Realm bleed. His Grace will not forget, nor forgive: they are traitors, and will be dealt with appropriately-" he broke off then, sweeping his gaze about the Great Hall, challengingly. "The punishment for treason is death, is it not?"

Rikue almost burst out laughing: To their credit, Ansem's former apprentices had the grace to look ashamed (or at least pensive). "That is correct," said Ienzo cautiously, "but the Darkness is a greater threat than any territorial or dynastic disputes. It threatens the security of your entire world, seems to me. We can't just go around, world after world, picking and supplanting the local rulers-"

"Local pretenders-!" Lord Florent cried indignantly.

"While we're on the subject of making common cause," Aerith mused, "What long-term purpose is there in supplanting this Joffrey? I don't see how allying Radiant Garden with any one faction will be very productive. Send messengers to your King and to these others, and invite them here - I'm sure we can find some method to countera-"

"Believe me, my lady, if there were an easy answer to this conflict, I would have pursued it - and had far more success before now. The boy... Joffrey," explained the King's Hand wearily, "Is a bastard. His Grace's brother, Robert (First of His Name) left no trueborn issue of his body. Joffrey 'Baratheon' is born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother, Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer. I speak explicitly for the King in this matter: we will not treat with such vermin."

The "i" word elicited a visceral reaction from the Wielder of Twilight and his younger companions: EWWWGH.

Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed on the Committee. Merlin the Magician joined Lord Florent in his furious beard-stroking competition and queried, "And... how do you know this Joffrey is... indeed, the product of incest?"

"His Grace has had his suspicions for some time. Whereas the boy and his sibling-parents are all blonde, ever scion of House Baratheon for the past millennia have been possessed of dark hair a-"

"I would like to remind the Committee that such details are... Irrelevant." Even leered down at the southerner from his seat, his arm bent at the elbow and resting his chin in his hand contemplatively. "Even with proof of these claims (and disregarding the near-endless possibilities associated with genetic disparities), it is not for the Garden to enforce your succession laws, to say nothing of your disparate secessionist movements -" He then swept his gaze to the remaining members of the Restoration Committee to his right and argued, "Do any of you even realize the precedent this would set? Would we allow these 'Westerosi' word in our own affairs? In how we are governed? I think not."

"Seven Kingdoms stand at the edge of the abyss, and you would trust a manic child - the unlawful product of incest - with their liberation? Or would you place your trust in a true king, battle-hardened and eyes nascent upon the sunset?"

"We have met none of these pretenders, not even this Stannis character; only you. Thus far, you have railed against the encroaching Dark, and yet your only solution is for us to become your hired hands! Interplanetary relations ought to be restricted to resistance to the Realm of Darkness, and no more than that!"

"That is enough for now, Even," Leon finished wearily. "Lord Alester, we thank you both for your time and patience. As head of the Committee, I can pledge that the Garden is willing to ally with any who stand against the Darkness - but further discussion is required for this civil war of yours... we shall reconvene in several days to announce our decision. This meeting of the Radiant Garden Restoration Committee is concluded."

Lord Alester's jaw clenched defiantly, but he nodded his head and swept from the Grand Hall, his bannermen filing out silently behind him. Bringing up the rear was Melisandre of Asshai. Looking to the trio once again, she smiled and her eyes darted up to the balconies hanging above the Hall. Riku followed her gaze - and noticed an annoyingly familiar flash of red and black among the citizenry.

Stone Mill, the Red Fork
The Riverlands, Westeros

A great host was assembled on the shores of a reddish river, clogged with crimson silt and sediment - charging into the muck were heavily armored footmen bearing scarlet standards emblazoned with a golden lion, rearing in defiance. The murky river was wide and slow, looping and bending through the woodlands, yet it was dotted with tiny wooded islets and sandbars lurking just below the maroon surface: it was by traversing those chokepoints that the red host, apparently, had hoped to cross the ford. Even so, they were having a hard time of it - the west bank of the river was significantly higher than their eastern spearhead, so they not only had to cross the river but also fight up the beach. Despite those trials, however, they seemed to be making slow progress. Led by some giant of a man, clad in dark armor and a yellow tabard embroidered with black hounds, entire battalions of the reds surged across the shallow fords, entering the full firing range of hidden archers and scorpions positioned somewhere along the western woods.

Triumphantly, the human mountain made landfall onto the western bank, roaring with pride as his best soldiers fell into the river impaled by arrow and scorpion dart, some taking the hits in vital regions ensuring instant death (pierced eyes, punctured lungs, torn throats, etc.) Far more, however, we felled by hits to their extremities, and wallowing in the mud, would no doubt find themselves gifted with a slow end when the battle was done. Clambering up the bank, the great knight found a spacious clearing in the wood, occupied by a common mill and garrisoned by a sizeable number of rivermen arrayed behind a wall of spikes driven into the earth to halt their ascent. The slaughter began: on both sides, men were impaled or disemboweled, armor was rent, many relieved themselves in fear. Eventually, despite heavy losses, the tall knight won the crest. As his men filed in behind him, he was startled by a clarion call erupting from the forest. An assortment of cavalry emerged from the trees, men on strange deerlike creatures, many of whom bore their own standard: a silver trout one a field of blue and mud red waves. These were likely the locals, and they didn't seem ready to flee anytime soon: aiming their long lances at the invaders, they broke out into a trot, mud squelching with the effort.

Suddenly, shadows arced towards the charging rivermen, slamming into the queer mounts and bringing them to the ground, whinnying in distress, their large eyes rolling madly in their sockets. Their riders fared no better - falling from their saddles, they were either impaled upon their own lances or crushed beneath their steeds' bodies, impacting into the burgundy mud which decorated their whimsical banners. Darkness reigned: the amorphous figures fell upon their hapless victims, golden eyes gleaming with hunger as they swooped down from on high or erupted from the moist earth to feast upon the wounded. Some number of the lancers, however, had survived the fall, and a precious few had even remained in the saddle; but, when faced with the apocalyptic sight before them, they turned tail and fled back past the Stone Mill into the deep forest behind them. Seeing their cavalry leave the battlefield, the archers hidden within the forest valiantly turned their fire onto the dark creatures that had intercepted their reinforcements, to little effect.

The west was not the only afflicted area - from the east, the Darkness snapped at the red host, snatching the unwary from their ranks. On the eastern bank, a tall and imposing lord commanded the red host, slender and broad-shouldered, adorned in crimson armor engraved with intricate illustrations of golden lions, and a cloth-of-gold cloak fluttered behind his steed. He was only now approaching the end of a serious mid-life crisis by the looks of it: any thinning hair had been brutally shorn away, though he allowed a large outgrowth of golden mutton chops to compensate. Gifted with an unflinching gaze (giving the impression that he wouldn't hesitate to dunk a child in tar and set it alight to further his ambition), his pale emerald eyes were flecked with gold - taking in the collapse of the army on the western bank, puzzled, he quickly gathered his wits and signaled to one of his squires. Horns were sounded, producing out a haunting melody, and clergymen cried out as the high lord rallied his forces for one final push across the ford.

And who are you,
the proud lord said,
that I must bow so low...?

I really, really wanted to name this chapter, "What Does the Fox Say?" 'Cuz, you know. Florents. Foxes...

Wherein I attempt to answer the age old question, "Why no muddling?" I have been playing the first Kingdom Hearts lately, and I was more than a little confused by the concept (no, Aladdin can't come with us - but Genie? Oh sure, he can! Seriously, of the two, who d'you think can keep a better secret?)

Practically any place in "The Known World" of Ice and Fire would be a good spawning place for the Heartless; but a battlefield seemed the most likely in Westeros, given the overarching despair and all! *manic laughter*